


When They Go to Dinner

by mistleto3



Series: Beginnings [3]
Category: K (Anime)
Genre: First Date, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-30 11:12:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8530792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistleto3/pseuds/mistleto3
Summary: Mikoto and Tatara's first date.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter can also be found on [Tumblr.](http://mistleto-3.tumblr.com/post/153056864939/beginnings-part-4)

It had been a few weeks since the last time Tatara had stayed over at Mikoto’s apartment, and he’d surprised himself with how well he’d kept it together. The brief memory of the last half a second before Mikoto fell asleep still plagued him, even though he wasn’t entirely sure whether it was just an accident, or even if it had actually happened at all. The thought of it would drift into his mind whenever he wasn’t concentrating too hard on anything else; the recollection of Mikoto’s breath ghosting across his skin, the warmth of his body so close to his own, how surprisingly soft his lips were… Tatara found himself shaking the memory out of his head multiple times every day, and more than once over the past couple of weeks he’d had to make a quick escape to the bathroom to splash his face with water and pull himself together.

But if his waking hours were bad, his sleeping ones were even worse; he hadn’t gone a single night without dreaming about kissing Mikoto. Sometimes, the dreams were just about everyday life, but when Tatara got up to leave the bar and go somewhere for instance, Mikoto would catch his wrist and kiss him goodbye. Sometimes he dreamed about what would have happened if Mikoto hadn’t fallen asleep when he had, and once or twice, those dreams got a little raunchier than Tatara had expected and he’d awoken sweaty and embarrassed in his own bed. Each night was different, but that memory of Mikoto’s lips touching his own was woven into every single one.

This wouldn’t have been too much of a problem, except that now he couldn’t help but feel horribly on edge whenever Mikoto was nearby. He couldn’t look at his face without remembering the feather-light brush of his lips, and it took far more effort than he was used to to be able to concentrate on anything else when his King was around. His heartbeat picked up whenever he got too close to Mikoto, and if ever he accidentally brushed against him as they passed each other or something along those lines, it never failed to make his cheeks flame red.

The only exception was when Mikoto was in pain, when he was struggling to control his powers. Then, Tatara could sit with him for hours without being bothered at all; his anxiety seemed so trivial then. But as soon as Mikoto was alright again, even just making eye contact with him made his chest squeeze uncomfortably.

 And of course, Mikoto hadn’t said anything about it (not that Mikoto was the kind of person to say anything about anything). He didn’t seem troubled in the slightest- he was acting completely normally whist Tatara was slowly dissolving into a wreck. Which, while it made Tatara feel silly, was also admittedly a bit of a comfort to him - at least that meant Mikoto didn’t object to or feel awkward about what happened. Though, Tatara was becoming increasingly convinced that Mikoto didn’t even remember, and he even began to worry that he’d dreamt the whole thing. Even the morning after it happened, Mikoto had acted as though nothing was amiss, and Tatara certainly wasn’t about to bring it up.

But, as much as the memory made him anxious, it also bolstered his confidence in some strange way. If things that night had happened how he thought they happened, that meant he really did have a chance at making something more of his relationship with Mikoto, and the prospect made him bold. Even though he _was_ sort of a nervous mess, he decided he wouldn’t allow that to stop him; he’d had his first taste of the life he wanted with Mikoto, and he’d be damned if he was going to let it end there.

 

It was late morning, but Mikoto was still fast asleep as Tatara snuck into his room and laid a tray on his bedside table, laden with a mug of coffee, an omelette, and a small stack of fried bread. He then crept over to the curtains and threw them open, giggling as Mikoto winced at the light pouring in.

“Happy anniversary, King!” he announced, perching on the edge of the mattress.

Mikoto’s voice was gruff and slurred with sleepiness as he replied: “We aren’t married, Totsuka.”

Tatara felt his heart flutter, and he hurriedly quashed the mental images of standing at an altar as Mikoto slid a ring onto his finger.

“I know, silly. It was two years ago today that you got chosen by the Slates.”

“Huh…” Mikoto seemed mildly bemused by this, as though he was surprised Tatara had even bothered to remember the date, but he glanced at the tray of hot food on the bedside table and seemed to decide he wasn’t opposed. He sat up in bed, and Tatara felt his pulse stutter as the sheets fell to pool in Mikoto’s lap, revealing his bare chest. Mikoto reached for the coffee and took a deep swig as he rubbed the sleep from his eye with his other hand, and Tatara had a hard time suppressing the thoughts about how cute he looked in the morning when he was messy-haired and drowsy like this.

“Thanks,” Mikoto mumbled.

“I made us a dinner reservation, too. To celebrate. It’s at that new Italian restaurants a few streets over; Kamamoto went a few weeks ago, said the food was really good.” Rikio had also told Tatara that the restaurant was very cosy and romantic, but Mikoto didn’t need to know that.

“Just the two of us?”

“I invited Kusanagi too, thinking it’d be nice for the original three of us to go together, but he said he couldn’t make it.” Technically, Tatara had decided to go out for dinner already knowing that Izumo was busy that evening, Mikoto didn’t need to know that, either.

“Fair enough. Sounds good.”

Tatara felt a short wash of relief (he’d been half-expecting Mikoto would turn him down), but it was instantly followed by a burst of anxiety.

_I’m going on a date with Mikoto. Sort of._

Admittedly it wasn’t really a date if Mikoto didn’t think it was a date. Just two friends going out for dinner. To a romantic restaurant. Friends who shared a bed and cuddled and had maybe kissed once…

Even if it wasn’t a date, it certainly felt _a lot_ like one, and even the idea of an almost-date was doing plenty to stoke Tatara’s nerves. He took a deep breath to try and calm the flip-flopping sensation in his stomach, forcing himself to keep up a cheerful demeanour as he chattered away to Mikoto, keeping him company as he ate his breakfast.

Once he’d finished the food, Tatara excused himself under the guise of taking the empty tray back downstairs and letting Mikoto get showered and dressed. As soon as he got out of the room, he let out a nervous sigh, his breath shaky as it hissed past his lips. He wasn’t sure how he’d make it to that night without having a heart attack- his pulse was showing no signs of returning to its normal rate any time soon.

* * *

Tatara had ended up almost making himself late by spending almost half an hour fretting over what he should wear, before finally deciding to wear the shirt he’d intended to wear at the beginning of the whole debacle. He’d been a jittery mess the entire day; his hands were shaking so badly that he nicked his face in four different places shaving, and he couldn’t sit still on the bus ride towards the restaurant, his fingers drumming against his knee as he tapped his feet restlessly. He tried to tell himself there was no need to be nervous- he was just eating with his King, who he’d been friends with for years. But he knew that wasn’t strictly true; it was never _just_ going to be dinner with a friend in his eyes, even if that was how Mikoto saw it.

When he arrived at the restaurant, Mikoto was waiting outside for him, dressed no differently to how he usually was, and Tatara felt foolish for worrying over his choice of outfit so much.

“King!” Tatara greeted him enthusiastically, trying to disguise his nerves beneath his bubbly persona.

Mikoto greeted him with his usual gruff demeanour, allowing Tatara to lead him inside and choose their table. Tatara was very quick to order a bottle of wine, hoping the alcohol would help to calm the shaking of his hands and the drumming of his pulse. While he waited for it to arrive, he forced himself to keep talking; he knew he’d lose his nerve if he didn’t. Thankfully, making small talk was Tatara’s strong point. Mikoto seemed perfectly content to listen- he’d never been much of a talker- but he did quirk his eyebrow at how relieved Tatara seemed when the waiter set the bottle of wine on the table, seeming amused by the gusto with which he took his first deep swig from the glass.

“Thirsty?”

Tatara’s cheeks warmed. “A little…” he said sheepishly.

He made sure to pace himself after that, aware that he was something of a lightweight, and thankfully, it didn’t take more than a third of a glass before his nerves began to calm and he could start to actually enjoy himself. As the food came and went, Mikoto drank faster than Tatara did, which Tatara suspected was a deliberate tactic to make sure he got less than his fair share of the bottle- Mikoto knew all too well how easy it was to get Tatara drunk, and as such it was probably well-advised that he made sure he didn’t get more than two glasses in himself.

It was still enough to make him tipsy though, and Tatara was quite the affectionate drunk, so it wasn’t long before he felt the compliments slipping out of his lips without him ever having intended to speak them aloud. He was still self-aware enough to know what he was saying, but the pleasant fog in his mind allowed the words to escape without him having the chance to properly consider them. Thankfully, most of them weren’t too embarrassing- his usual comments about his admiration for Mikoto but dialled up a little, but they were occasionally interspersed with slightly more humiliating observations about how handsome Mikoto was, how nice his hair was, how he had soft skin and muscular arms and gave good hugs. A few sappy ones got out too, like how grateful Tatara was to be his friend. Thankfully though, he still had enough control over himself to bite back the _most_ embarrassing ones; he managed not to make any comments about how pleasant Mikoto’s butt was to look at, or how he smelled nice, or how Tatara had felt adrift before he met him, for instance, which he was glad about. That didn’t stop him from blushing when those thoughts flitted through his head, though. Predictably, Mikoto barely seemed affected at all by the wine, and he listened to Tatara’s tipsy ramblings with a vaguely entertained look on his face.

When all the food was gone and the bottle of wine was blessedly empty, Tatara ordered the bill, but Mikoto stopped him when he tried to pay it, arguing that he was broke. Mikoto wasn’t wrong about this in the slightest, but Tatara protested that dinner was his own idea, so Mikoto shouldn’t have to pay for it. Mikoto paid anyway, ignoring his clansman’s complaints.

Despite that he’d had been fairly relaxed through the dinner, Tatara’s nerves resurfaced in full force when they left the restaurant. They walked so close beside one another that the backs of their hands brushed more than once, and even with the wine-fuelled haze behind his eyes, his heartbeat had started to hasten again and the hairs on his arms were standing on end. He was struggling to keep up his bubbly façade; the memory of the kiss had crept back into his mind, and every time he glanced up at Mikoto’s face, his gaze would land on Mikoto’s lips and he’d feel his chest tighten.

It wasn’t long before Mikoto noticed something was up with him, and he raised an eyebrow.

“You okay?”

“Mm. Just… it’s a nice night; I don’t really wanna get the bus back,” Tatara responded hurriedly, glancing up at the sky.

“Alright. I’ll walk you home,” Mikoto offered, but he was evidently unconvinced by the lie.

It _was_ a nice night, though; the last rays of dusk hovered just above the horizon, outlining the silhouette of the city in gold and lilac as the inky blue twilight crept westward across the sky and stars began to wink into sight. The breeze was cool, a welcome relief to the humidity of the day, but it was difficult to appreciate it walking next to Mikoto; Tatara struggled to think about anything other than his King for more than a few seconds at a time before his mind would stray back to noticing how close their hands were- almost close enough to tangle their fingers…

Their hands brushed again, and Tatara jumped, almost as though he’d gotten a static shock.

“Totsuka,” Mikoto chided. “What’s really up?”

Tatara’s gaze dropped to the pavement beneath his feet and he chewed his lip. He didn’t even bother trying to grasp for another lie; he knew nothing but the truth would convince Mikoto. And if he was honest with himself, he _did_ want to talk about that night. He was going mad, dogged by the memory at all hours of the day but never any closer to what it really meant. He had to know, he had to say something, even though the thought of putting it into words, the thought of how Mikoto might react, made his stomach do backflips

He took a deep breath, then another, trying to force the words out, and Mikoto waited patiently for him to speak.

“I…” The rest of the sentence wouldn’t come, so Tatara inhaled deeply once more, then tried again. “I’ve been thinking a lot about the last time I stayed over at your place. Just before you went to sleep, did you… k-kiss me? Or did I dream that or was it an accident or-…”

Mikoto interrupted Tatara before he could start rambling in earnest. “Yeah, I did.”

Tatara blinked in surprise at the blunt response, and just like that, the uncertainty and anxiety that had weighed him down, crumpled into a knot in the pit of his stomach, unravelled. The tension that had wracked his body since that night weeks ago when they’d first slept together in his bed finally evaporated, and Tatara felt light for the first time in so long. He let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. It wasn’t until now that he realised how much all of this had worn him down; the longing, the pining and the embarrassment he’d felt because of them, the fear of rejection, the fear of making their friendship awkward, the fear of making Mikoto feel like he couldn’t come to him for help any more… All those emotions stacked haphazardly on top of one another had made such a heavy burden, and now it was just… gone.

_Mikoto kissed me._

Mikoto was the least affectionate person Tatara had ever known, but he’d been more than willing to share a bed with Tatara, more than willing to cuddle as they slept, he’d even _kissed_ him. There was no way that meant nothing, not for someone as private and guarded as Mikoto.

The hopeful speculation that he’d allowed to hover in the back of his mind solidified into certainty.

_I’ve actually got a chance here._

This was the opportunity to take that next step, push their relationship a little further than friends, and Tatara would be damned if he wasn’t going to seize that opportunity by the horns when it had presented itself so neatly to him.

“So, what does that make this?” he asked, the words no longer catching in his throat. A wave of confidence had flooded through him, and he took advantage of it while it lasted.

“What do you mean?” Mikoto asked.

“This going out for dinner thing. Is this a date?” he could feel the hopeful expression spreading across his cheeks, but he made no effort to stop it.

“I guess it was a lot like a date, so if you want it to be.”

Tatara felt a grin widening irresistibly across his cheeks, and in response to Mikoto’s words, he allowed his fingers to bridge the gap between his own hand and Mikoto’s, slotting them together casually. When Mikoto squeezed his hand, Tatara’s smile grew even brighter. It wasn’t like they didn’t touch hands all the time- tapping his fist against Mikoto’s palm was Tatara’s main method of calming him down- but this was different. They’d never held hands before, not like this, not in this unequivocally _not platonic_ way.  Tatara’s palm fit so neatly in Mikoto’s; his skin was calloused and rough in a sort of comforting way, and his hands were warm and so much bigger compared to Tatara’s that they almost swallowed his own hand up.

Despite everything they’d already done, despite the kisses and the late nights tangled in each other’s arms, Tatara revelled in holding his hand as they made the leisurely stroll back towards his apartment. It was these little gestures of affection that Tatara had been craving, and the simple act of walking hand-in-hand home from a date was more than enough to keep the little contented smile fixed on his lips the entire way back, no matter how hard he tried to keep a straight face.

And for once, Mikoto seemed happy too. He was relaxed, his shoulders loose as his arms swung at his sides, and the corners of his lips were ever so slightly turned upwards. Tatara’s gaze kept wandering up to Mikoto’s face, treasuring in the sight of him looking so serene. They barely spoke the whole way back to Tatara’s apartment; for both of them, just enjoying the other’s presence and the gentle contact of their hands had been enough.

Tatara felt his stomach sink a little when they finally rounded the corner onto the street where he lived; he didn’t want this walk to end, and by the way Mikoto’s pace slowed as they approached the stairs leading up to the apartment, it seemed he felt the same way. Tatara’s grip on Mikoto’s hand tightened as they climbed them, and when they got to the door, Tatara made no motion to reach for his keys, reluctant to let the evening draw to an end. Their hands were still joined as they stood on the balcony, closer together than usual; barely two inches of air separated their bodies.

“We should do this again sometime,” Tatara said casually, looking up at Mikoto through his eyelashes.

“Mm,” Mikoto agreed, then tilted his head, watching the way Tatara’s gaze flickered from his face to glance down at his shoes nervously. “What is it?”

Tatara chewed his lip as he considered how to phrase his thoughts, his expression playful. “The tradition at the end of a date would be to give your partner a goodnight kiss...”

Mikoto blinked in response, seeming mildly surprised by the suggestion, but it was clear he had no objections. Mikoto was a difficult man to persuade to do something when he didn’t want to, and the way he barely hesitated before leaning downwards gave no hint of reluctance.

It was clear from his trajectory that Mikoto had been aiming for a kiss on the cheek, but at the last moment, Tatara turned his head. Their lips brushed, then caught each other’s, slowly and softly, but this time very _definitely_ kissing.

It was every single cliché that Tatara hadn’t believed actually happened in real life. He’d kissed people before, of course he had, but time had never slowed down like this; he’d never felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle like this; he’d never felt the rest of the world slide away like this, like raindrops down a window until he was blissfully ignorant of everything but the soft pressure of Mikoto’s lips on his own. He didn’t even have the self-awareness to be embarrassed by how much his inner monologue sounded like it had been pulled straight out of a cheap romance novel.

Mikoto released Tatara’s hand, and his palm rose to cup his jaw gently, drawing the brief kiss out as long as they felt they could allow themselves to before finally breaking apart. Tatara let out a giggle of nervous elation, then hid his face in his sleeve. He heard Mikoto chuckle.

“Cute.”

“Oh, shush,” he protested, his cheeks warming as he peeked up at Mikoto’s smirking face through the gaps between his fingers. Then he cleared his throat and said softly: “G’night, King. See you tomorrow.” He could hear the giddy grin in his own voice.

Mikoto nodded. “See you tomorrow,” then he paused as Tatara turned towards the door. “Totsuka.”

“Hmm?” Tatara looked back over his shoulder at him, then made a soft sound of surprise as Mikoto leaned in and stole another brief kiss. Then, with a smirk playing on his lips, he turned on his heel and headed back down the stairs, leaving Tatara with flushed cheeks and a brilliant grin on his lips.


End file.
